


mercy please (deliver me)

by Narraboth



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Renaissance, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, No longer a short one shot, Red Kryptonite Kara Danvers, the healing power of being gay and thirsting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:28:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23220988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narraboth/pseuds/Narraboth
Summary: Of mercenaries, Machiavelli writes:“they are disunited, ambitious, and without discipline, unfaithful, valiant before friends, cowardly before enemies; they have neither the fear of God nor fidelity to men”.The Kryptonian captain is the worst of their kind, ruthless, ferocious, and unscrupulous, one who could never be charged with cowardice. There is not a fight the Red Daughter has not won, not a city she has not attacked and brought to its knees. There is no man, woman, or child in Italy who would not tremble at her name.It is exactly why Lex Luthor hires her to head his army that he sets out to wipe his bastard sister’s city off the face of the earth.
Relationships: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor
Comments: 121
Kudos: 1378





	1. Chapter 1

Of mercenaries, Machiavelli writes: _“they are disunited, ambitious, and without discipline, unfaithful, valiant before friends, cowardly before enemies; they have neither the fear of God nor fidelity to men”._

The Kryptonian captain is the worst of their kind, ruthless, ferocious, and unscrupulous, one who could never be charged with cowardice. There is not a fight the Red Daughter has not won, not a city she has not attacked and brought to its knees. There is no man, woman, or child in Italy who would not tremble at her name.

It is exactly why Lex Luthor hires her to head his army that he sets out to wipe his bastard sister’s city off the face of the earth. 

She’s standing in front of Lena now, in all her fearsome glory: tall and lean, clad in ornate black armor, a blood-red cape falling from her shoulders, hand cockily resting on the hilt of her sword. She’s an imposing sight for a warrior, but nothing like Lena would not have seen before. What strikes her more is her face: even with her cruel smile, the hard shine of her blue eyes and the strangely pulsing red veins under her skin, she’s exceedingly handsome, almost cherubic with her flowing golden locks. It seems like an evil jest for such a person to have an angel’s face, more fit for a fresco in a cathedral than the visage of a soulless mercenary.

It does, conversely, serve to inspire some blind hope in Lena’s heart at this dark hour.

The mercenary has accepted the invitation to her halls, after all. True, she rode into the city alone, haughty and jeering, tossing her white flag into the face of Lena’s castellan with the arrogance of a conqueror. She strode through her palace as if she already was its master, stepped before Lena’s throne without bending her head or knee.

And now she stands, head tilted with a smirk, waiting for Lena to beg for her life, for her freedom, for her people; and so Lena must begin.

“You do not have to do this, Captain.”

Her voice trembles, muffled by the black veil that hides her face. The mercenary must hear it, though: her lips are drawn into a snarl-like smile.

“But I will,” she assures Lena, in a tone so cheerful it makes a cold shiver run down her spine.

“My people are innocent,” Lena presses on. “They should not suffer for my brother’s grievances with me.”

The mercenary shrugs.

“Then be glad and assured that their souls will be granted a swift entry to Heaven.”

Lena can only be grateful the mercenary does not see how her cheeks burn with anger for being so helpless against so despicable a threat. She must change her tune.

“How much is my brother paying you?”

“You’d like to buy me?” She gives Lena a brazen look, her gaze scorching as she looks Lena up and down. “I can be amenable. But what could you possibly have to offer? I know your coffers are as good as empty.”

“What do I have to offer?” Lena rises from her throne, no longer trying to hide the fury of her tone. “Less innocent blood on your hands and good souls on your wicked conscience. One merciful deed to speak for you on the Day of Judgement.”

It’s as if she tried preaching to a rock: the mercenary only laughs and crosses her arms over her chest.

“Don’t ruin it now, Countess,” she tuts. “You were striking the right tune before.”

“You are a beast,” Lena spits out, only to be met with a derisive smile.

“You have no terms left?”

“Only one.” Lena ascends the steps of her throne, slow and regal as she can be to make her last stand: if this is all that’s left for her, she will stay defiant to the very end. The mercenary watches her, blue eyes following every movement stoically until Lena stands before her. “Strike me down now, so I don’t have to see your horde razing my city.”

She rips off her veil and throws it into the mercenary’s face – let no-one boast to Lex that she went to her death trembling. She waits for anything: another scornful laugh, the merciful strike of a sword that she asked for. It never comes. The Kryptonian stares at her, dumbstruck, eyes wide as she takes in Lena’s face.

Then she drops to her knees.

“Lex warned me you were wicked and deceitful,” she whispers. Her face is reverent now, the red veins in it flaring up, then dying down with a dim glow. “He should have warned me that I, poor mortal, was raising my weapon against a goddess.”

“Do not mock me,” Lena breathes. She feels as if she has fallen under a spell: she must be dreaming to see the most beastly _condottiere_ tamed at her feet.

“I would never dare, my lady.” One gloved hand reaches out to clutch at the edge of Lena’s dress and the mercenary looks up at her, pleading. “Forgive your humble servant for her rude transgressions.”

Lena feels herself trembling at the mercenary’s touch, but she does not free herself from it: she leans forward, her hands clutching the mercenary’s shoulder for support.

“Have you lost your senses?”

“I have only just regained them.” The Kryptonian lets go of Lena’s dress, only to reach out and gently draw Lena’s right hand into the armored clutch of her own, the cold kiss of the steel reminding Lena that she isn’t dreaming. “I am yours to command.”

She almost looks anxious as she stares up into Lena’s face, waiting for an answer, her eyes shining with devout fervor. 

Slowly, gingerly, Lena moves her hand to touch the mercenary’s face. The skin under her fingertips is hot, almost feverish, and under Lena’s touch, the red veins seem to dissipate. The hard, cruel lines of the Kryptonian’s visage melt away with them: she sighs, pressing her cheek into Lena’s touch.

Lena doesn’t know what commands her for what comes next, but it only feels right: she leans down and presses a kiss to the Kryptonian’s forehead. She hears the shaky breath she draws, feels her tremble as Lena’s lips press against her skin. When Lena draws back, the Kryptonian’s face is all light, and the smile she gives to Lena is the fairest she’s ever seen. Lena returns it, triumphant, and tugs on her hand.

“Rise then.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> specifically and only for the b-day girl Audrey @lena-luthor

It is on the warpath towards her brother’s domain that Lena first feels peace.

It should not surprise her: her life has always been full of strange turns, something always askew and astray. It feels fitting that she’d find her most steadfast supporter in a hired sword who was meant to kill _her_ , that she’d be handed the weapon for her brother’s destruction by Lex himself and feel utter joy over going to war with her own family.

Lena cannot find it in herself to mind.

-

It starts there, in her throne room, with the Kryptonian standing before her, all too close, eyes trained on Lena’s face so intently that it feels almost idolatrous. She lays a hand on the mercenary’s breastplate, trying to keep the barest distance between them.

“What am I to do with you?” 

“Whatever you wish,” the Kryptonian responds, swift and resolute. “I swear to protect you with all I have. I will take vengeance for you if you bid me to do so, take over the whole of Italy and lay its crowns at your feet if you all but ask.”

It’s intoxicating, the promise of the power laid at Lena’s feet. But it’s not _power_ that tempts her in the mercenary’s speech, not the thought of a higher throne, but the control of her own fate, to rule her own life for the first time ever since she’s seen the light of day.

“I want Lex to suffer the fate he wished for me,” she breathes out. She’s met with the warm glow of the Kryptonian’s smile.

“With pleasure, my lady.”

-

It grows from there, like the vines of ivy slowly creeping up on a wall, spreading unstoppably and clinging to its foundation till plant and stone become inseparable.

Lena learns of the Kryptonian slowly, day by day once they set out on their journey. She is called Kara Zor-El, a name that no-one save for a handful of her lieutenants dare to utter in her presence. She has been at war for over half of her life, a child born and raised in discord. And like the best of the _condottieri_ , she’s no bumbling brute either. She speaks and reads in four languages, is better versed in the liberal arts than some scholars Lena has met, and owns a villa in Umbria where she intends to lead her company now to regroup before descending on Lex. Around Lena, she’s the very image of a courtier, kind and adoring, seeking to fulfill any and all of Lena’s wishes.

But there is still something terrifying about her. She’s not _cruel_ , not anymore, but the dreadful power is still there, unbridled, unstoppable. Lena watches her practice swordplay one day, watches the ease with which the Kryptonian tears and pummels through the three opponents she’s set against. It’s mesmerizing, observing this force of nature: Lena’s never felt so thrilled than when she first saw the play of the Kryptonian’s muscles under her loose, flowing shirt as she raised her sword to strike down, never known delight like the sound of her laugh and the sight of her running her hand through tousled hair after a bout won.

-

Two weeks into their journey, Lena’s learned this: Kara Zor-El is a thunderstorm waiting to strike, her power resting solely in Lena’s own hands.

And she’s absolutely drawn to Lena’s touch.

Lena doesn’t quite notice it at first. She notes how the mercenary is drawn to her, following her like a loyal hound whenever possible, a devotion as fervent as her pledge of allegiance was. After a while, though, it would be hard not to see that Kara is seeking out every innocent touch she can: she’s always the first to offer her hand to help Lena off her horse, or her arm to escort her for a stroll. It’s more than simple courtesy, a courtier’s gallantry: Lena sees how Kara’s whole face lights up when she _accepts_ , how she seems to glow with delight when Lena’s ungloved hand brushes against her own.

It doesn’t take long until Lena decides to indulge her, as much as decorum ever allows.

-

The villa that Kara calls her _little refuge_ stands atop a hill, overlooking a sea of green and gold. It’s fortified heavily enough to be called a castle, built and adorned gracefully enough to be a veritable palace. Kara’s face shines with pride as she leads Lena through its gates and into the great hall.

“Be as welcome as if it were your own home, my lady.” 

Their fingers are still intertwined. Kara’s touch is warm, calloused, her thumb slowly stroking the back of Lena’s hand as she drinks in the sights. For a second, there’s no war on Lena’s mind, no vengeance, no clamour of arms, only this haven and the serenity she feels here, with Kara at her side. She squeezes Kara’s fingers.

“Thank you, Captain.”

\- 

They play chess that night.

It’s a game Lena’s seen Kara indulge in with another mercenary before, and an excuse as good as any for having Kara in her room. (Not that they’d need any pretense: there’s only the Red Daughter’s own company around, and Lena’s sure they have all long made up their minds on the pair of them, ever since Kara brought her into their camp and announced they’d be turning their swords against Lex.)

Kara turns out to be as formidable a player as she is invested. An hour flies by before Lena gains the upper hand: then, gaging the severity of her situation, Kara leans on her elbows and stares at the chessboard for minutes in complete silence _._ She’s so intent in her concentration as if she was arranging her troops for battle, her forehead crinkling with the effort: Lena fights the urge to reach across the table and smooth it out with her thumb.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to defeat you.” Kara looks up from the board, mouth twisting into a roguish smile that makes Lena’s heart flutter. “Unless you want me to throw the game and let you win. I serve at your pleasure.”

Lena shakes her head, stifling a giggle.

“What are you doing _serving_ me, then?” She asks and Kara frowns, staring at her in confusion, like the very question is nonsensical. 

“I do not follow, my lady.”

“You know I’m no warlord. I have no riches, no means to keep an army. Why did you pledge yourself to me?”

Kara smiles.

“A lady called me, one so beautiful and blessed that I begged for her commands.” The words of Dante flow from Kara’s mouth with practiced ease, as sweet as they are lofty. Lena feels like she might be dreaming again. “The splendor of her eyes surpassed the stars.”

“So I am sent by Heaven?”

Lena feels parched, barely managing to get out the words. Kara’s in no such state: her gaze is fixed on Lena’s face, earnest, scorching.

“You are Heaven.”

“You praise with blasphemy.”

Kara laughs, bright and delighted.

“Will you assign me penance, then?”

“You are incorrigible.” Lena feels her face growing hot. “Are you fond of me, Kara Zor-El?”

Kara tilts her head, staring at her with an amused smile. 

“Is the flower fond of the sun that gives it life?”

“So your care for me is a matter of survival.”

“It is a matter of devotion.” Leaning forward over the table, Kara draws Lena’s hand into hers, linking their fingers together. “You are known for your kind heart and wisdom across the lands. I did not value those qualities as I should have for far too long, until your fairest self drew the shroud from my eyes and shone your light on me. Is that reason enough?”

Lena feels her heart hammering in her chest with such force that she’s sure Kara must hear it too, feels dizzier now than she was in the throne room weeks ago, as if whatever spell that was set on the mercenary has now turned to bewitch her.

“I suppose so.”

“Good,” Kara nods. She doesn’t let go of Lena’s hand as she reaches out to her own figures and makes a move that Lena’s too lost to follow. “Now, I’m afraid, I have defeated you.”

“A game well played, Captain.” Lena draws her hand from Kara’s touch and rises without looking at the board. She fears that even if she were to look, she’d only see Kara’s face, the softness of her features under the candlelight, the loving gleam of her eyes. “It’s late. I must bid you goodnight.”

“It was my pleasure, my lady,” Kara smiles and Lena, against her better judgement, extends her hand toward her again.

The look Kara gives her as she bows down and presses her lips to Lena’s hand haunts Lena’s dreams for long, fitful hours that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they sure are horny huh
> 
> find me @[narraboths](narraboths.tumblr.com) on tumblr


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